Chapter Ten

The first thing Jackson noticed was the iron chest. The chest was medium-sized, and it looked like someone had polished it because the torchlight danced off of it like rays of glory. With one hand, he opened it. Inside was a weave book—the first one he had seen yet. He analyzed it.

This book contains the knowledge of how to weave the spell: Mass Charm (Basic Level 1). Mass charm allows you to influence the domains of others, turning them into allies who believe themselves to be serving you and your agenda. They will follow all commands except any command to harm themselves intentionally. Jackson lacked the proper class and could not learn this weave.

He hung his head and let out a gigantic sigh. He was hoping for healing potions—something to help with his health. He was battered and bruised, and one of his freaking bones was sticking out of his arm. He knew his health was low, and it wasn’t healing on its own. His bones ached, and he was slumped and sagging, and his thoughts felt sluggish. He eyed the fang, and he just knew there was more ahead of him, more to do. More danger, more chances of dying. For a second, he actually considered letting himself die.

It was a very dark thought; he knew that, but it would send him to respawn and he would come out fully healed, so to him, in the moment, it was less of a dark thought and more of a strategic decision. Yet, he knew he would not go through with it. It was too much like giving up, and furthermore, it would place him on his last life, something he simply did not want to be on. With an extra life, he had a bit of a buffer—another chance to move forward and have another go at it. Just giving that up without fighting for it would be a stupid decision.

Jackson thought about resting, but there were problems with that. Mainly, there were goblins not too far from him at all, and they could stumble upon him. He was a little shocked they hadn’t when he passed out earlier, in fact. Further, even if he did rest, it would not heal him. He was certain of that. The Eden Tree did not allow health to heal over time, or he was certain he would have healed even a little bit by now, and he had not. There was just no other conclusion to come to.

Yet he had to face it; there were no healing potions in that chest. Just a book containing a weave he could not even use. He sighed and deposited it into his bag of holdings. The pain in his arm throbbed, deep and unabiding. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly, pushing the pain away with his thoughts. Opening his eyes, he focused on the fang. He had finally found it. He brought up his quest; it had been a while since he had read it.

Quest: Locate the hidden tomb of Lazurus. Lazurus’s tomb is within these catacombs and can be found by locating the hidden portal on the catacomb’s first floor. Look for the mark of the fang.

Well, he was looking at it. It stood out, a white mark engraved into the gray stone, and it was definitely a fang. He turned a little awkwardly and shuffled forward, touching the fang with the fingers of his bad arm. He figured if something bad happened, at least it would happen to his bad arm and not his good one. Nothing happened. He frowned and blinked. More puzzles. He hung his head again. A mental wave passed through him, and he imagined that his brain seemed to actually sag. He took a deep breath and set himself to the task.

What do fangs usually mean? Obviously, they were sharp, usually for eating and tearing into meat. He got the feeling that offering it rations wouldn’t get him anywhere, however. Instead, he decided to focus on what he could do and what he had access to. Fangs also tend to be related to blood; in fact, blood is almost always related to blood in some way. With that in mind, he reached over and into the cloth he had wrapped around his arm. It was already soaked with blood and it was easy, if painful, because he jostled it, to get a little blood on his finger. He coated the fang with it, …and nothing happened.

He growled and kicked at the wall, succeeding in hurting his toe. More pain stacked on top of the rest of it didn’t bother him that much. He still wasn’t ready to give up on the blood angle; instinct told him he was on the right track. The only other thing he had that was related to blood was his Domain’s blood aspect. He immersed himself in it as he had learned to do in what seemed like forever ago and wove it into the fang in the way he might have if he were enchanting it.

It began to glow, an inner crimson light swirling from its center, and continued to do so until a vortex of red light encompassed the whole wall. He stepped back and considered it. This must be the portal the quest spoke of. The Judge confirmed it, though.

Quest update! You have found the hidden tomb of Lazurus! To complete this quest, explore the tomb of Lazurus and overcome its puzzles.

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With a heavy head, he stepped into the portal.

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Where he ended up was a very simple room, if you could call any room in this dungeon simple. There was a mirror inlaid into the graystone of the wall directly ahead. There was nothing else in the room. He went and stood in front of the room, and it was the first time he got a good look at himself.

He did not look good.

His black hair was a matted mess, caked with slime and blood, and stuck to his skull. His sharp features looked gaunt, and his pale skin looked like it belonged on a corpse. There were deep bags under his eyes. It had been the first time since entering the dungeon that he had gotten to see his eyes, and he had not remembered what color they were.

His eyes were blue, but currently they were bloodshot, shot through with lines of swollen red. His clothes were shredded, showing patches of bloody skin. After examining his harrowing appearance, he looked around the room. Other than the mirror, it was seemingly empty. He closed his eyes and pushed back the sudden desire to scream. He really hated puzzles.

Jackson knew he should be grateful; he could be facing down some monster that was trying its hardest to kill him, which, admittedly, could still happen. He turned back around and looked at the mirror again, and rather than look at himself, he looked at the rest of the room. It looked the same. Nothing appeared out of place.

Dismissing the mirror he walked around the room, examining the stones. He couldn’t see anything else he could do except look for anything that seemed out of place. Every stone looked mostly the same, but he kept at it, looking at every stone as closely as he could. It wasn’t until he made it to the back right corner that he found anything. He rubbed the dust off a particular stone at high level and was presented with small, faded red text. It read,

“Life moves ever onward,” he muttered.

Now, what could that mean? The obvious was that it was true. Life did move on, whether you wanted it to or not. It was clearly a clue, so what did it mean in this context? To get in here, he had used blood weaves, so he tried the same, using blood weaves to infuse the mirror. No dice; nothing happened. Blood was often associated with life, and this tomb had already set a precedent for using blood. Not seeing any other choices, he flicked a little blood at the mirror. The mirror rippled, like a pebble flicked into a pond. Well, that was interesting. He rubbed at his chin, trying to mush through the sluggish thoughts. It felt like he was trying to make his way through a swamp of mud and water.

The mirror rippled. Yet there was no sign of the blood on the glass. He stood in front of the mirror and again looked for changes.

He found some. The little bit of blood he had flung at the mirror had landed on some stones at his feet. At least they had it in the mirror. Looking downward, he saw none of the red drops. Yet in the mirror, they were most assuredly there. What did that mean? The only thing that made sense was that the mirror was a door to another room, though it looked identical. The mirror was the size of a door, so it did make sense in a way. Steeling himself, he attempted to walk through the mirror. It rippled around him, and he passed through it.

He had made it to the next room.

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Jackson had expected this room to be identical. It was not. There was no sign of his blood at all. In fact, the room was much larger. A pool of water was off to the right; it was surprisingly large, with steps leading down into the pool. Words were engraved into the wall above the pool.

“Embrace death, or life is not worth living.” He said it aloud.

As he looked forward, there were five statues that were spread out throughout the room. The statues were of some large winged beast with an open maw of jagged stone teeth. He analyzed the statues.

This is a statue of a gargoyle. It has no level.

Past the gargoyle statues was another portal of swirling crimson red. Seeing the clear exit for this place, he did not hesitate to stride forward.

Instantly, the statues moved, the sound of stone sliding on stone echoing throughout the room. The gargoyle statues were surrounding Jackson, and he could not move forward, leaving him the only option of moving backward. He could not move forward then.

“I should have known it would not be that easy,” he said to no one in particular.

Back to the words, then. Embrace death? Jackson had already died once before; that was about as embracing death as it got. Clearly, that didn’t qualify here, though. The burning question was why there was a pool of water in the room. There did not appear to be any reason at all for its presence.

It wasn’t like the gargoyle statues needed baths. Then there was the location of the words, which were obviously a clue; they hung over the pool. Jackson looked around and confirmed that there were plenty of other empty stone walls where the words could have been engraved, so why that wall? It wasn’t the first wall you saw, so it could not have been for convenience. No, it had to be related to the pool.

But what did embracing death have to do with a pool of water? Jackson stared blankly at the water, a wave of exhaustion wiping away all thoughts. What had he been thinking about? Oh, right, water and death. Perhaps he just needed to go into the water? It seemed as good a plan as any. Jackson hesitated, though; he did not think it would feel good on his wound. He couldn’t see any other choice. He took several deep breaths and gathered his wits, bracing for what was to come. He knew this was going to help, and he had to steel himself for it. One step, water moved around his boots, rippling, another step.

There was nothing for it, and being a baby about it was not going to do Jackson any good. He plunged into the pool, bringing a world of pain with it.